


239 - Punk Girl Band Reader

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “reader is in a indie rock/pop girl band that’s starting to get big and they go radio 1 and do a live lounge cover of a catfish song and then Van sees it and makes it his mission to find reader b/c wow your band is super talented and he might’ve fallen in love with the way you sing his songs bonus one of the group members is like a female bondy i.e. super snarky and a little weird” and “reader and Van (and maybe the boys too) participate on a charity event with kids maybe??” and “reader wanting to take van along to a punk show in the pit and although that’s not really his scene, he goes anyway to make sure the reader doesn’t get hurt ??” and “one where you admit you have a celebrity crush on van on TV or radio and van is buzzing about it and finds a way to meet you or something like that?” and “One where the reader is on a TV show with van like never mind the buzzcocks or something like that”Bonus mini request for watching the lads play football and for Van calling out sexism.





	239 - Punk Girl Band Reader

"Drum roll, please…" and Sid drummed her hands on the table top quickly, melodically. "7 by Catfish and the Bottlemen!" The studio of people erupted in cheers and laughter.

"Now, we've had Van and the lads in a few times. Ever met them?" Clara, host of Live Lounge, asked. The girls all looked to you, smirks on their faces.

"No. No, we haven't. Just really like what they're about. Bit like us, I think. Just make uncomplicated music meant to make people happy and dance or whatever, you know?"

"Don't hurt that they're all well fit too," Pippa added.

"Fuck, Pip. We're tryna' not fall into the ‘girls get into music just to be close to boys’ stereotype," you said. Sid snorted. There was some heavy Lana Del Rey imagery in that.

"Sorry. But. He is your celebrity crush, innit?" she argued.

"Oh, that's a topic. Celebrity crushes! Now you lot are on the A list-" and another snort from Sid, "-are you any closer to those crushes?" Clara asked.

It was the exact question Pippa was hoping for. She flicked her long hair, wriggled in her seat, and cleared her throat. "Well, funny you should ask. We're playing with Wolf Alice soon, so I'm a little excited to meet Joel. We ran into Bebe Rexha the other week, and Ammy lost it-"

"Um," Ambrosia interrupted. "I didn't lose it. She's just… very beautiful. She's not my celebrity crush though,"

"Dua Lipa?" you asked.

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"Right. Then, Sid hates everyone, so she probably don't even have a celebrity crush," Pippa continued. Clara nodded, amused at how easy it was to get someone to name drop like that.

"And then Y/N's is Van. Everyone knows that,"

"At least, they do now," Sid added helpfully and with an annoying smile.

"Well, now we've got the list, we'll hook you up next time that lot all come in. Shall we get you ready to play?" Clara asked.

"Please. Please, yes," you replied, blushing hard. Surely Van McCann wasn't out listening to the radio, though. It would be fine.

…

"Y/N!"

Although it was obviously Sid yelling for you, she had put on a weird voice. As she burst through your bedroom door, you regretted letting her crash on your couch. The one bedroom apartment was too small for your need for space and her big, big weirdness. It did make band stuff easier though, and recently it had been really taking off.

Sid yelled your name again.

"What?" you mumbled.

"Mum called,"

"Stop callin' her that. It's so fuckin' weird," you said, sitting up.

"She organises our lives and sometimes does my washing. How's 'Mum' not an appropriate nickname?"

"Nicky is our manager. She does manager stuff. It's- Fuck it. Whatever. What do you want?" you asked, giving up on the argument.

"Do you want the good news, the gooder news, or the goodest news?"

You sighed, stood up, and walked from the room. Sid followed you, waiting patiently. When you flicked the kettle on, it helped you feel more awake. "Ah… any. Any order,"

"Good news is Van McCann is obsessed with you. Gooder news is that you're going on Never Mind the Buzzcocks. Goodest news is that Van is too!" She cackled with laughter. "Get it, girl. Get. It. Girl."

You made tea while Sid danced around you. While you pretended to be unaffected, you were very, very overwhelmed by all the information delivered so ungraciously. There were a million questions you wanted to ask, but doing so would only serve to encourage Sid.

When she was done, she sat at the table opposite you and snapped into business mode.

"Seriously though. Buzzcocks is big. Get our name out. Connections. All that. And Catfish tweetin' out our cover is good too for that. Already kicked numbers up on all the socials. More downloads too,"

"Yeah… Yep,"

"That's it? Yep?" she asked with a smirk.

"What do you want from me, Sid?"

"You and McCann's first born to be named after me."

Another forced act of apathy and you went to shower. Fuck.

…

"Noel's first team member tonight is back for a second go. Last time he stole the stationary and all our hearts - it's Van McCann!"

You'd almost missed the taping. There were only ten minutes to get you made up, then you were pushed into a chair next to Noel Fielding. No calming introductions before lights. No prompting or warnings before camera. It was all action.

The audience clapped for Van, and he gave them all the thumbs up and a boyish grin. He certainly looked different from when he was first on the show, but he acted just as excited and honoured as then.

"Noel's final teammate makes her Buzzcocks debut. With a band you wouldn't want to take home to Mum 'cause their poster is under Dad's pillow - it's Y/N," Rhod announced.

Fucking really? Really?

Before Rhod could announce the first segment, Van was speaking off script.

"You know, mate, her band is dead good too. Ain't just a bunch of pretty girls, actually," he said. Noel was sniggering between you.

"Did a cover of one of yours, yeah?" Rhod asked, opting to not acknowledge the fact he was being called out.

"Yeah. Better than our version, I reckon," Van replied.

Your heart was beating out of your chest and you wondered how much of that would be edited out before broadcast.

It was easy to not have to look at Van, sitting at the same panel as him. It was easy to laugh when anyone made a joke and it was easy to answer the questions about the music you'd been listening to your whole life. Then, it was Intro Round where two team members recreated the introduction of a song a cappella.

"Van, Y/N, you'll be performing for Noel," Rhod said.

You both stood and really looked at each other for the first time. There was a micro-expression of amusement of Van's face that he was trying hard to suppress. You'd always assumed these types of games were rehearsed. Evidently not.

Reading the card, you knew the song. Without needing to converse, Van started to make the drumming sound and you counted yourself in and awkwardly but accurately recreated the guitar. Noel had the song in seconds.

"This is some kind of teenage fantasy, this is," he said about the image of you and Van side by side singing for him. Blushing, you hoped television cameras couldn't pick up on the peachy tone of your cheeks.

The second song was harder, but Van had a plan. He leant in close and whispered your part. You nodded, felt your stomach flip, then followed his lead. After a couple of seconds, everyone had joined in on making the melody audible. You laughed, ruining your sound, but Noel had guessed it so it was fine.

"The Dream Team," Rhod commented.

"Do you think they're maybe telepathically connected because they're actually hipster clones? Made of the same DNA?" Phill asked.

As the crowd laughed, you looked down at your clothes, then Van's. Boots, black jeans, and black denim jackets. Granted, Van was in a black button up tucked in and you were in a black t-shirt that read 'Not Your Babe', but that was covered by the jacket and didn't really make the outfit entirely different to Van's. When you looked up, Van grinned at you and shrugged.

"I think we look dead classy," he said.

…

Noel's team - your team - won by seven points, and you liked the reference in that. When the cameras stopped rolling you sat talking to Noel for a minute or two, watching Van out the corner of your eye. When you missed something Noel said, forcing you into an "Ah… sorry?" He laughed.

"He's a fine little slice of pie, ain't he?" he asked you, changing the topic of conversation entirely. Before you could help it, you were smiling and looking away. "I knew it! You gonna ask him out on a date? Think he's a bit intimidated by girls like you,"

"Girls like me?" you asked, genuinely interested in the answer.

"Yeah… Strong and a bit bad ass,"

"All girls are strong and a bit bad ass," you said back with a smirk that meant you were ready for this fight.

"My point exactly," Noel replied. "Gotta wonder how he's got this far in life." You both stopped to look over at Van, who was halfway through telling a story to Jorja Smith. His hands were flying around erratically and she looked confused more than anything else. "Had Kym Marsh on last time he was here and first thing he says to her is that he fancies her,"

"I guess that's kind of charming… He's honest," you replied.

"A charming slice of pie," Noel agreed, getting up and leaving you with a wink and a hug that left glitter on your jacket.

There wasn't even a moment to get up and move to say hello and thank you to anyone else before Van had plonked himself down in Noel's vacant chair.

"Hi," he said happily. "Mean what I said. Your cover was very good. All the lads liked it a lot. Got them to Tweet it out and everything,"

"Yeah. Yeah, I saw. Sid, ah, our drummer, she said it actually helped with exposure, so… Thanks for that," you replied.

"You're very welcome, love. We did Live Lounge a couple of times but nobody ever said anything about our covers of their songs. I did a radio thing like it in Australia with a Killers song and Brandon Flowers really liked it, so that was really fucking cool, you know? He's a hero of mine, see,"

"Yeah, I heard that cover. Live music. What the kids want," you replied. Fuck. Probably shouldn’t have quoted him. Surely that indicated your crush on him. But, Van was smiling and had a twinkle in his eye. He made a face like you'd challenged him in a game.

"Think they probably edited that out for the CD. But yeah. He's great. Almost, I guess, kind of like a celebrity crush?" Van's voice was thick with sarcasm and he was just waiting for you to react. You licked your lips then bit down on them hard. When you said nothing, the silence started to make him squirm. "I knew about your band before you did Live Lounge,"

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Bondy was playing that one song you got and I just thought it was class. Yous got a lot to say, but like, the music is so catchy. Gets people moving, innit,"

"Thanks."

Both weighing each other up, filled with butterflies and very much in love with the game, the rest of the room was melting away. The studio audience became meaningless white noise. Rhod and Noel and Phill dissolved into the background. The other guests didn't even register.

"And your voice, just dead in love with that sound. Love how you sing my songs. If this coincidence-" He stopped to motion to the room around him. "-didn't happen, I would've invited ya whole band out on tour or somethin'. Just had to meet ya,"

"You're so kind," you replied in a horribly sweet voice and with a tilt of the head.

You had honestly thought you'd won, that he was going to give in and say 'oh, fuck, Y/N, just give us your number, yeah?' Instead, he stood and held his hand out. You took it and let him shake professionally.

"It's been class, Y/N. No doubt, I'll be seeing you around."

And you watched him waltz off backstage speechless and a little shocked. Motherfucker. Wasn't he meant to be intimidated?

…

"No, don't paraphrase. Like, be exact. What exactly did he say?" Pippa asked. Her long hair was tied up and with her bass in one hand and tube of lip gloss in the other, she was a vision of cutthroat femininity.

"How am I meant to remember that?" you replied.

"Ugh! Y/N!"

"Jesus, Pip. You gotta get out more. Stop living vicariously through Y/N," Sid muttered. She was still setting up her drum kit for rehearsals. She'd arrived late with a bag of slinkies for no apparent reason. All of you were playing with them. It was unclear if they were the reason for her lateness, or if they were purchased as a distraction from it.

"If you wanna go do the interviews and shows and stuff, be my guest," you offered. "You go meet everyone,"

"Oh God no," she promptly replied, turning away to tune her perfectly tuned base.

"I know you're sick of talking about it, but can you just tell me one more time about Noel? What's he smell like? Can I brush the glitter off your jacket and keep it?" Ambrosia asked from where she was sitting on an amp, waiting patiently and quietly.

"Oh, he's fucking amazing…"

…

"What do you mean invited?" you asked sceptically.

"The label… invited you… to… wait, what? Why do you look so fucking suss?" Nicky asked.

"Because our label is Catfish's label and she's got some weird thing going with Van McCann," Pippa replied.

"No-" you went to say.

"So she probably thinks, somehow he's orchestrated this whole thing," Sid added.

"No-" you tried again.

"Which makes no sense because they ain't the ones organising this, so…" from Ambrosia. You gave up.

"Right… Well… No… It's the label. Can't tell if the higher ups are genuinely good people, or if they're just feeling the pressure to be part of the whole social change movement thing, you know? Everyone has a charity thing going on now. I don't know. Anyway. You just go, hang out with a bunch of kids, smile, and that's it," Nicky said.

You were sitting in the lounge room of your house. The others all looked disinterested, probably because they assumed attendance was only compulsory for you. Pippa and Ambrosia were cuddled up on the couch, and Sid sat on the windowsill smoking through the window. Nicky had dragged a chair from the dining table into the lounge room in an attempt to look more formal and boss-like. You sat on the arm of the couch and processed.

"Not gonna lie, don't love your attitude," you said to her. "Maybe we don't really know why the label's doing it, but it's still going to be a good day for those kids. You guys remember Dave from that café we used to go to with good banana bread?" Everyone nodded and smiled at the thought of Dave and the banana bread. "He went through the foster system. We talked about it a bit. It's probably not, like, 100% bad for everyone, but the bad when it's there seems… really fucking bad. So I think this is good. Don't be so cynical about it."

For a second nobody knew what to say. Then, Sid stood up.

"Do we all have to go?" she asked. Nicky shook her head no. "Can we all go?"

…

The park was set up like a mini arts, crafts, games, and sporting festival. Nothing but wholesome fun for children under the care of the Minister aged 5 to 17. A big tent played the role of 'backstage' and there is where you were reunited with Van.

He plonked himself down in the free space next to you on an inflatable couch. The rest of his band followed him to the same space, and lounged around, introducing themselves to the members of your band. It was immediately obvious that Sid and Bondy were a combination that could only spell trouble.

"Y/N. Looking extra summary today," Van said. You were in denim cut offs and an old Lou Reed t-shirt that once belonged to your mother.

"Van. Looking… like you can't appropriately dress for the weather or occasion," you replied. Jeans. Jacket. Boots. The usual. He grinned and nodded.

"Got these but," he said, putting sunglasses on.

Taking them from the bridge of his nose and placing them on your own, you asked, "How do I look?"

You could see it on his face that he was tossing up between humour or honesty. A warm smile, then, "Beautiful."

Before you could reply, an organiser with a megaphone called for the boys. They were to play football with a group of kids.

Van stood and held a hand out. "Come on then. Come with."

…

"That's like… a real thing people do?" you said, confused and amused as you watched Van ran around in a circle with his shirt over his head. A small boy copied him, and they put the entire game on hold to be dramatic. Bondy laughed. "Why aren't you playing?"

"Hate football," he said.

"Not a real charitable attitude," you replied. He laughed again.

"What about you then? Why aren't you in there?"

"Not my job. I'm an arts and craft girl. See, the jobs were allocated using outdated methods including the use of gender stereotypes. Got the lads and their spots. Ladies and their crafts. You know," you said.

"Mmmm. Thought that when I saw the timetable. I love craft. Why can't I make a sock puppet?" he complained.

"You're welcome to come, but ah, think you're being called for," you said, pointing to where Larry was waving Bondy.

"Ah, fuck. Alright. Good chat," he said, walking off. As he did, he turned to walk backwards. "By the way. Van's pretty much in love with you. It got to stalker level after Radio One. Watch out,"

"Will do," you said with a sailor's salute and a smile that was an attempt to hide real emotion. You’d been doing a lot of that lately. 

The game, in which teams were divided as Van, Benji, one of the organisers, and a bunch of kids, versus Larry, Bob, Bondy, and a bunch of kids, went on. Whenever he could, Van would run around with a kid under his arm and put them down just in time to kick the ball. If he wasn't doing that, he was looking over to check you were still watching.

Halfway through, they stopped to give the kids orange slices. Van fell to his knees in front of you. You were sitting on a deck chair, and he rested his head on your legs.

"Water?" you offered, handing over your drink bottle. Van nodded and took it gratefully.

"Thank you,"

"Easy,"

"Having fun?" he asked. One of his new little best friends came over and plonked herself in Van's lap without asking. He laughed and shared the water with her too.

"I've literally never seen a game of football in my life, so this is… an education," you replied.

"Hear that Meg? This one ain't ever seen football!" Van said to the little girl. She looked up at you, still sucking on the drink bottle. She didn't really care about your choice of sports at all.

When the game reached its thrilling conclusion, it was a tie. Importantly, every kid had the chance to try to kick the ball, and with the help of the guys, they all felt very, very loved.

"Maybe I like football?" you said to Van on the way back to the backstage tent.

"You do. I can tell. You can come over and watch a proper game with me and Larry. We'll teach you everythin' we know," Van said.

"So, not much," Larry quipped as he walked by quickly.

…

Towards the end of the day, after a combined band lunch, Van followed you to the painting and art tent uninvited. As he walked by your side, he chatted away about anything and everything. He seemed to be a sparky type of person, but he really came alive around kids. There was something in their unashamed playfulness and naïve innocence that made him feel at ease. Funny about that.

You sat at a table with a group of kids and watched Van take over.

"You guys doin' some painting, huh? This one looks class, mate. Looks like a proper nice house," Van said to the kid next to him. "Is this your house?" You winced for the kid where he himself just chewed on his lip and shook his head no. Van frowned, then the realisation set in. "When I was a kid, I shared a room with my mum and dad, you know. Used to dream of living in a big, fancy place like the one in your painting."

The kid's curiosity got the better of him. He looked up at Van. "Did you get a house?" he asked.

"Not yet. Maybe one day, huh buddy?"

The kid nodded, calmed by the softness of Van's voice. Van looked over at you and it was easy to see the awkward regret on his face. You shrugged at him, tried to tell him it was okay.

The rest of the session ran smoothly. The kids liked Van's funny voices he did, and with an audience they became even more exaggerated. You washed brushes and dotted noses with paint as Van turned into a one man show for the entire art tent of kids.

Walking to the backstage tent, Van was still thinking about the kid without the dream home.

"Think I ruined his day?"

"No. Think he's probably got bigger things to worry about then the misguided bonding attempts of some random adult," you replied. "Besides, he was your bestie by the end, so,"

"Yeah. I just… forget sometimes, you know? I have it so, so good. Dead lucky. I gotta appreciate it more,"

"Van, you're the most grateful person I've ever met. Like, I don't know anyone that says 'thank you' as much as you do."

Van smiled and nodded, then stopped walking. You stopped a step later and turned around.

"Do you wanna go on a date with me?"

He blurted it out in one quick sound. A sound that, out of context, was very funny. Therefore, you laughed. Van frowned, but even that was more like a pout.

"Sorry," you said, regaining your composure. "That was just… adorable,"

"Adorable?!" Van squeaked.

"Yeah. Adorable,"

"Does that mean you'll go out with me? I am your celebrity crush and all that." The smirk was audible in the words.

"You're really going to play that card?"

"I'll play any card I have to. 'Sides, you're mine, so. We're even. Date?"

…

"This is not what I had in mind when I said 'date'," Van said.

"Can't complain! I did say we could do something different!"

"Didn't want ya to get hurt. Mad crowd, ain't it? Mayhem."

You were on the edges of a crowd quickly turning into a mosh pit. A much anticipated punk show; it was not at all Van's scene. He looked clean and out of place without tattoos or piercings. You planned on getting a few drinks in him, then he'd be fine.

"I'm offended you think I can't hold my own,"

"Yeah… I underestimated your…" he went to reply with, but couldn't work out how to describe one's ability to stay happy and safe in a mosh pit. Whatever it was called, you certainly had an aptitude for it. Van too, but only because of his height and general easiness in crowds.

After the opening act played, you took Van's hand and lead him to the bar. Ordering him to down two shots, you watched him comply without argument. You downed one, and both had a beer. Outside for a smoke, then back in the crowd, the alcohol was in effect. You were happy buzzed, jumpy and warm. All the fun feelings you had about the idea of Van McCann of Catfish and the Bottlemen were crystallising into something real. And Van, well Van was wrapped around you from behind, his lips pressed close to your ear.

"Don't think you know how much I fancy ya," he said, words laced with a booze-induced confidence and sexy in their simplicity. You smiled and pressed back into him, making him hold you tighter.

The band started and the show rolled on. The night was lost to heavily distorted guitars, fragmented memories of mohawked girls and bloody nosed boys, and making out with Van in the middle of the chaos. All of a sudden, you were being carried through his front door, legs wrapped around his waist and lips firmly locked with his.

No polite stop in the kitchen to offer a drink. No pausing to contemplate behaviour.

By sunrise, you'd be bruised and aching and in love.

…

"My girlfriend told me this quote. Don't remember who said it but. She goes, 'Moderation is a fatal thing, nothing succeeds like excess,' and I reckon that's what we think, you know? Just keep touring. Keep going back and forth between here, the States, Australia, Japan. We wanna do South America again. You know what I mean? We really wanna make a go of this, so we just gotta… keep going," Van said to the radio show host.

Your feet were up on the dashboard of the car. The radio was on and you and Sid were in the carpark of McDonalds drinking milkshakes and eating fries.

"Oscar Wilde, yeah?" she asked you. You nodded, and hid the fact you were surprised he could remember the quote word for word. Honestly, you were constantly underestimating each other and therefore constantly blowing each other's minds.

The interview continued.

"Speaking of your girlfriend, she's in music too, right?" Van was asked. You blushed as you listened to him talk about your band and how good you were doing. "Right, so yours is a sort of ten year before success story, and hers is overnight?"

Van hesitated. "Ah… I guess. Not really. I don't know, man. They've been together for a couple years. S'not like she just walked into a label and got a deal. They're hard workers, all of them,"

"Guess it helps to have a pretty face," the presenter replied.

"What the fuck?!" Sid said, sitting up and handing your shake back to you. She was drinking both her chocolate and your strawberry simultaneously, just to see what the flavour would be. But now she was pissed, so you'd never find out.

"Wait, wait," you hushed her, wanting to hear Van's reply.

Another hesitation, then, "That ain't got a thing to do with it. They are good musicians and Y/N writes real good lyrics. They work like crazy and play any show they can, like we did. They didn't get lucky, and it's not that they're all dead beautiful, it's that there ain't anybody like them right now. And they sing about proper stuff, you know? Important stuff. Stuff about how people say shit like that to them. Probably owe them an apology for that, mate. Think it's called sexism."

"Wow," Sid whispered, grinning.

He'd learnt a lot from you and when you were next in his bed, you'd thank him for being so willing to change and defend. Another spectacular trait to add to the list of his best.

"God, I love him," you said, turning the radio down. It was playing Soundcheck but you'd heard it a million times before.

"Think he loves you too. What a fuckin' love story. It would warm my heart if I had one," she replied. An image of her in the ball pit at the charity event, playing with two little girls with pigtails came to mind.

"Yeah. It's gross,"

"Very."

…

The sun was setting and while you couldn't see it, the saturated oranges and pinks of the skies told the story well enough. Sitting on Van's back veranda, drinking wine and watching his dog chase little bugs around in the overgrown grass, you were content. More than.

"Alright," you started. "What about Fuck Marry Kill?"

Van snorted. "Always end up sayin' the wrong thing. You'll be mad at me by the end,"

"No, I won't. I'm not like that. Okay. Fuck Marry Kill… Sid, Pip, and Ambrosia,"

"No," Van replied before you'd even listed all their names. "No way. Firstly, ain't this, like, sexist or something? Feel like if this were a movie and a bunch of lads were sitting around doing this, you'd be all huffy,"

"Whatever. You're just chicken," you said with a smirk. Van raised his eyebrows at you, then took a dramatic gulp of wine.

"Fine. Marry Ammy, 'cause she's very chilled," he said, speaking slowly, cautiously. You nodded. "If Pip finds out I killed her, she's gonna be devested,"

"You'd fuck Sid?!"

"Well… she's weird, so I figure…" He stopped speaking when he saw the amused look on your face. "Fucking… whatever, Y/N. My turn. Bond, Larry, Blake, then,"

"Why no Bob?"

"Everyone would marry Bob. Everyone," Van said like you'd asked the more stupid question on Earth.

"True. I would. Um… I would wed… Larry. He's good at adult stuff like washing clothes. I'd probably sleep with Bond for the same reason as you and Sid. They're kinda like… the same person in a lot of ways. So, Benj is a goner,"

"Predictable," Van says with a shrug.

And that is what you did with your evening. You could have said something cute and sappy about being thankful for being outed for having a crush on him on the radio, or you could have reminisced about your punk show first date and the many dates since. You could have dreamed out loud of babies and the future. Instead, you got drunk with Van, played stupid games, and fell asleep on the lounge room floor to the sound of The Doors and Van's light snoring.


End file.
